Barry's Beef

The London Lite is a remarkable paper in that it makes the Daily Mail look academic. It is by far the worst of the freebie papers so thanks to an unscheduled tube journey yesterday afternoon, I didn't hesitate to pick up a copy to while away the delays.
Now Gail Porter is a celebrity of whom I never tire. She used to be incredibly fit and she has now lost her hair. And to celebrate her divorce from that bloke out of Toploader who didn't have shit hair, she was out on the town wearing a massive red wig. Ok you're bald, so it must limit how you can look your best on a night out, but dressing up as Krusty the Clown probably isn't the best way forward.
Anyway the purpose of this post (believe it or not there is one) is to show how crap the London Lite is. I mean in the pic of her with the angel wings on, I like the caption in the photo reading "Free at last1" - yep cos it's so hard for a proof reader to see that it should have been an exclamation mark and not a number 1. So there you go, just a shift key away from being crap rather than unprofessional. Onwards and upwards.

Labels: amateur, crap, Gail Porter, London Lite, rag

The Litvinenko cases continues and after using a pretty weak James Bond pun in this post, it did tickle me that Scaramanga, he of three nipples, is involved. Oh it's not Scaramanga, it's Scaramella; Mario Scaramella. Well if there are any additional characters who have names with vague James Bond connotations you'll read about here first.

Labels: crap, desperate puns, KGB, Mother Russia, murder

Using the Central Line every work day I am hardly a stranger to delays. Indeed, for the last 3 days I have been in no danger of getting to work anywhere near on time courtesy of the Underground's unique network of signal failures, power failures, defective trains and passenger alerts.
Today was a particular treat with Gants Hill tube advising the next westward service would be in 7 minutes, this remained in place for another 5 minutes and was then raised, somewhat oddly, to 12 minutes and soon thereafter reduced back down to 9 minutes. Eventually the train came in and the conditions were, well cramped would be understating travelling conditions at which even a sardine would balk. Basically, if you were not already a contortionist you were about to get a crash course.
A truly horrible and soul destroying way to start the day, which was by no means improved by the driver announcing, at every bloody pause in the service, that the Central Line was running a special timetable. Well, if Ken or anyone at TfL is reading this your special timetable is rubbish.

Labels: crap, London Underground

Saw this one on the Beeb website. This is perhaps the worst poll I have ever seen - apart from that asshole who lives in Tring, of course. I particularly like the disclaimer.

Labels: BBC, Beatles, crap, Oasis, poll